


Undead Diary 「不死日記」

by Misen



Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Female Friendship, Love Triangles, Masochism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misen/pseuds/Misen
Summary: An urban legend leads to a group of men uncovering a sunken safe at the bottom of a lake. Expecting priceless jewelry, they open it to instead find the body of a young woman... who inexplicably is still alive somehow. Or perhaps "undead" is a better word for it.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. The Safe [Awakening]

_ Rumor has it, there’s a great treasure at the bottom of that lake… _

_ 100 years ago, a doctor and her daughter lived in a little house in these woods. _

_ A wealthy man tore them apart and their bond as mother and daughter was severed. _

_ Rumor has it, the doctor dismembered the girl and scattered her remains in these woods, _

_ And sunk the wealthy man’s ring to the bottom of that lake. _

* * *

“Is that it, Tim?” Yuri called from the bank.

The old man rubbed his leathery hands together, watching as twenty-year-old Timothy surfaced from the blackness of the lake with a taut metal chain in his grip. 

“I found  _ something _ ,” Timothy answered.

Erik and Ollie joined Yuri as Timothy swam about twenty-five yards in, toward the bank. As he came ashore, skin glowing in the moonlight, Timothy handed off the length of the chain to Yuri. Yuri then, handed it off to Erik. With a hearty chuckle, Ollie bounded towards the truck as Erik hitched the chain up. As Ollie started up the vehicle, Erik flashed Yuri and Timothy a thumbs up. Yuri simply turned away, his eyes tracing the chain back to the lake where it disappeared under the water.

“You found the safe, right?” Yuri questioned, rubbing his hands together once more.

“I found  _ a _ safe. Can’t say if it’s the right one, but after a week of searching, I think it’s the only safe down there, old man,” Timothy sighed, his white breath billowing up to the night sky.

Yuri nodded, outwardly devoid of any optimism. However, as the truck’s tires spun and gripped the earth, he felt his heart tighten in his chest. Some phantom fluttering tickled throughout his body and he clasped his hands together, whispering a small prayer. Even if he was skeptical, there was boyish hope in him yet. After all, he’d heard the story ever since he was a child playing in these woods, by this lake. The story of a woman and her daughter who foolishly vied for the affection of the same man many years ago. As the legend went, it was the daughter who won the man’s affections in the end and he gifted her a ring worth his weight in gold. And her mother, unable to accept a bitter defeat, killed her daughter and sunk the ring to the bottom of this lake in a safe. A safe that very well could be the safe that surfaced before his eyes.

The truck’s engine roared, tires squealing as it pulled a rusted safe up from the water. Timothy and Erik grabbed hold of the chain, in an attempt to assist the truck in bringing the safe to the bank. But Yuri, with wide glimmering eyes, practically skipped to the truck bed and snatched up a crowbar.

“Get it steady!” he ordered the younger men, racing to unfasten the chains around the safe as soon as its feet were planted on the bank.

The chains fell with an unceremonious jangle, the truck’s engine quieted and a hush fell over the men. As all four came to stand side by side before the safe, they said not a single word. Yuri tightened his aching fingers around the crowbar and stepped forward. 

“Wait!” Erik shouted, darting back to the truck.

He rummaged around for a moment before returning to the line with a bottle of champagne and a corkscrew.

“Let’s pop this and make a toast… to being filthy,  _ stinkin’ _ rich!” he hollered.

Yuri rolled his eyes as the younger men celebrated and danced in little circles, even Timothy though he was tired from diving. Erik popped open the bottle and a geiser of foam spurted out wildly, filling the air with a sweet scent. But Yuri cared for none of it. Truthfully, he didn’t care about the money. Not even a little bit. As he went to work, scraping away the rust from the seams of the safe door, he wasn’t thinking about the money. No, no, it was the glory. To say he had found the infamous “Daughter’s Ring”, as it was called. To know that ring was real and that it was buried here for a century, untouched. To know… the story was true.

Digging the heels of his feet into the bank, Yuri wedged the crowbar into the seam of the safe. Working his way down to the lock, he pushed forward and back over and over. The men cheered him on and bit by bit, the safe door loosened and loosened. And then… the door popped open, a waterfall of red spilling out.

“... What… the fuck?”

Ollie stumbled back, falling on his rear with a yelp that stirred birds from their nests. Timothy stuttered, struggling to string together a single coherent sentence. Erik dropped the champagne bottle allowing it to pour out to the lake. And Yuri, old Yuri, grasped his chest and felt his tightened heart thump and skip several beats. They all stared, some with mouths agape and others with jaws tightly clenched, and tried to process the image that had burned itself into their eyes. Inside the safe wasn’t merely some mildewed documents. Inside the safe weren't precious photos subject to decay. Inside the safe wasn’t even the ring they were searching for. Inside the safe… was a woman.

Her body had been horribly compressed from the looks of it. Her knees were pressed up to her neck, her arms were tucked in at her stomach, and her neck was bent to a painful angle. Tendrils of wet, gray hair encapsulated her like a web and her pale white skin was like tissue paper displaying black veins all over her body and face. And yet… there was nothing about her that appeared rotten. No matter how the men looked at her, no matter the angle, it seemed as if the woman was only sleeping there in that awful position without even the slightest inkling of decay.

“Is she… is she dead?” Ollie mumbled out.

“She’s gotta be,” Erik snapped. “I mean, just look at that safe. It’s been down there for a few years at least.”

“But… look at her! She doesn’t look like she’s been dead and sitting underwater for a few years!”

Ollie and Erik continued to bicker about the logic behind what they were seeing, weaving together every rationalization imaginable. Yuri simply turned away, trying desperately to steady his erratic heartbeat. Yet, young Timothy stared at the girl’s face intently, looking over every inch of her body. Even in stillness, in this horrific state, there was some innocence about her that made his chest ache.  _ She must have been in pain _ , he thought as he approached the safe.

“Get away from that safe, boy!” Yuri shouted.

Despite Yuri’s warnings, Timothy’s pity pushed him forward and with a gentle hand, he placed his palm on the girl’s shoulder. Her skin was ice to touch and his eyes fell closed with a withering breath.

“... hurts…”

In the next breath, his eyes whipped open. He looked back over his shoulder, at the men cowering behind him. None of them were capable of making that voice, surely. Slowly, he looked back to the woman, his eyes settling on her face.  _ Was she making that expression before? _ Certainly he was imagining it. There was no way, no way in Hell, that the peacefully somber look on her face had morphed into one of pure agony in the moment he looked away. He told himself this, he insisted it was true, but… there was no explaining it away. Her blue lips parted, just slightly, and curled around the whispered words crawling up from her throat.

“... It hurts…” the girl hoarsely cried.

The men let out a collective gasp as the girl within the safe continued to cry, her pained voice carried by the cool breeze. 

“Please…”

_ There’s no way… she could be alive…  _

“Hel… help…”

_ I don’t believe it… Is she some kind of monster? _

“It hurts…”

_ A zombie? A ghost? Something in between? _

“Help me…”

_ Something terrible must have happened to her. _

Timothy scrambled to his feet and with the softest grip he could muster, he reached into the safe and took the girl’s cold hand. She winced slightly, her eyes shut tightly, as Timothy rubbed her elbow and shoulder.

“It will hurt just a bit, but hang in there. I’ll help you,” he spoke and straightened her arm out.

“What… the hell are you doing?” Ollie and Erik asked in unison.

Timothy did not answer, instead toiled away massaging the girl’s joints and bringing her out of the safe one limb at a time. She whimpered, seeming to fade in and out of consciousness as Timothy worked and the men behind him watched in horror.

“We made a mistake, this is the wrong safe,” Timothy said in single, short breath.

Pulling the girl out from the safe, he cradled her in his arms and stood.

“Someone must have dropped that safe recently, then…” Ollie voiced.

“Right, and it rusted shut in minutes before she drowned,” Erik scoffed.

“However it happened, I think it would be wrong to just leave her here. Someone was obviously trying to hurt her… And, just look at her! Does she look like a threat to you?” Timothy asked, holding the girl close to his chest.

Yuri wavered behind Erik and Ollie, his eyes flitting away sharply every time they landed on the girl. But, in the moment he took a long look at her, he couldn’t help sigh and take pity on her. She looked no older than Timothy and though the events that led to her being in that safe were a mystery to him, he couldn’t simply bear to leave such a poor soul behind. 

“Let’s take her back to the cabin. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us what happened to her in the morning,” Yuri resigned.

With that, the men started the trek back to the cabin they’d rented for this expedition. Timothy kept a tight hold on the girl, though she didn’t have the strength to hold him back. As they walked, she wept quietly and mumbled on and on.

“I’m thirsty…”


	2. The Girl [Awakening]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothy tends to the girl while the other men are sleeping off a night of drinking. However, he soon discovers the horrific reality of what this girl is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, an update and so close to the previous one. I'm doing good! This story is super fun to write so far. I can't wait until next chapter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one!

_ Even if I don’t understand it,  _

_ I want to help you. _

_ I want you to open your eyes and smile, _

_ Even if I’m only being selfish. _

_ At least, if I could know your name, _

_ I’m sure everything would be alright. _

* * *

It was something of a miracle that the girl lasted through the night. The men looking after her hadn’t nursed much more than a bottle of whiskey, lounging about the seating room until the sun rose. With the exception of Timothy, they lay passed out and drunk throughout the morning. Erik and Ollie curled up on opposite sides of an oak coffee table, murmuring about ghosts and other supernatural oddities. Yuri, meanwhile, was sitting perfectly erect in an armchair with his mouth hung open like a flytrap. And Timothy, purely sober, quietly tiptoed around the men and slipped into the mystery girl’s room.

Not much had changed, he noted. None of the men felt comfortable with bathing the girl so the smell of rotting linen hung thickly in the air. Timothy prepared a few slices of bread, tomato soup, and a glass of water but they sat undisturbed on the nightstand where he left them the night before. The girl herself seemed to not move a centimeter, laid on her back with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. For a moment, Timothy worried she might’ve died in her sleep. Quickly, he rushed to her bedside and placed his hand on her forehead. Like before, she was still dreadfully cold so he moved to his hand to her chest. There was no heartbeat, or if there was, it was too faint to be perceived. Yet, to his relief, her chest rose and fell with some semblance of life.

He sighed, studying her with a soft eye. His mind wandered, thinking once more about how she might’ve ended up in that safe. What monster could have done such a thing to her? She looked to be no older than him, maybe even a year or so younger.  _ She must have been so frightened _ , he thought.  _ Had I not found her when I did, _ and he shook his head to dismiss the other half of that image. Rather, he stood up and left the room for a moment, returning with a warm cloth. He placed it on her forehead, hoping that it would assist in raising her body temperature and almost as if to reassure him, the girl groaned and crinkled her nose.

With a gentle caress, he took her hand in both of his and rubbed it slowly.

“You must have been through quite the ordeal,” he spoke, his voice no louder than a wistful breath.

The girl did not respond, nor did her expression change but her hand seemed to feel just the slightest bit warmer in his. He exhaled into his hands, hoping to warm her up even more.

“Did you know we were going to call off the search a few days ago? Had we done so… I might not have found you. And… there might not have been a chance to find the person who did this to you. In a strange way, we’re lucky, aren’t we?”

He dropped her hand, moving up to her hair. It had dried down quite a bit overnight, though the ends were still damp. Much of the length had become tangled and seeing this, Timothy began toiling away to undo the knots as painlessly as he could.

“I wish I knew your name. Or where you’re from. Though, it might be best if you save your energy to get better first. Then, one day, we can have a long talk.”

Suddenly, as if to answer him, the girl whimpered quietly. Her brows furrowed, making little creases on the bridge of her nose. Eagerly, Timothy moved the cloth down from her forehead, pressing it tenderly to her cheeks, her chin, and her neck. Though, he noticed something odd. The warm cloth left no redness on her pale skin, not even the slightest hint of it. In the sunlight coming from the window, he could see clearly just how thin her skin appeared to be. How dark her veins were, like inky black strands beneath a faint layer of white. And for just a moment, he wondered if there was no blood in her body at all. 

“Can I… have something to drink?”

The girl’s question didn’t reach him at first. It took nearly ten seconds for him to even register that she had spoken. Her voice was still hoarse, but seemed less weak compared to the night before. So, with a bright smile, he helped her sit up and brought the cup of water to her lips. Eyes still closed, her lips parted and with Timothy’s help she took a sip. And before the water could even make it to the back of her throat, she spit it back into the cup. The girl coughed violently, flecks of black shooting into the water. Timothy discarded the cup and rubbed her back firmly as she continued to cough up more dark film that he couldn’t name if he tried.  _ The water down there must have been filthy, _ he thought… or tried to convince himself. 

Lifeless once again, the girl fell back onto the bed and grew quiet. With a tired sigh, Timothy looked down at her and wondered. What more was there to do for her? They could try to bring her to a hospital, he considered, but the trip back to town might take longer than she could make it. Erik’s words from the night before echoed in the back of his mind and he shuddered. 

_ There’s no way to explain this logically. No one will believe us if we tell them what happened. She’ll be better off dead then. _

As much as he hated to admit it, Erik had a point. Timothy brushed the girl’s hair back, behind her small ear, and thought of just how hopeless the situation seemed until he found something that distracted him. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, since it had been covered by her hair mostly, but around her neck was a green line. A green line that… wasn’t a part of her skin. With his fingernail, he softly prodded it and with a bit of force, the line lifted up. Looking at it a bit closer, he found that the line was a tarnished chain, likely for a necklace. He followed it down, pulling it up along the way, and saw that it disappeared beneath the tattered white gown that they found her in. With another tug, he felt a bit of weight attached to the chain and slowly, in fear of rousing her, lifted the chain out from under her gown.

“A ring…?” 

He clasped his hand over his mouth hastily, watching the girl’s face. It seemed she hadn’t heard him, but he remained frozen in that posture until he was certain that she was unconscious. Then, he took the ring between his fingers and examined it. Unlike the chain it was attached to, the ring didn’t appear tarnished whatsoever, gleaming a bright silver. There were a number of archaic-looking engravings on it, none of which he recognized as any kind of language. But, it was the crest that caught his eye. It was pure ruby or perhaps garnet in color, a teardrop-shaped crest with a carving that looked like a caduceus, yet wasn’t quite so identical that he knew what it was or what it meant. From a guess, Timothy thought it might have been a family ring or some kind of signet. Traditionally, a ring like the one he was holding in his hands would be given to men of a wealthy family… Though, he’d also heard of men giving their family rings to women… they hoped to marry.

“The… Daughter’s Ring…” 

The words escaped his lips just before his jaw clenched with enough force to shatter his molars to dust. He dropped the ring, looking down at the girl. His head rattled like a gumball machine, dozens of unanswerable questions weaving together an ungodly image in his mind.  _ The rusted safe, the ring, her cold skin, the veins… That legend is at least a century old so…  _ Without another word, Timothy dropped the ring and staggered back from the girl.

“I’m thirsty,” she spoke suddenly, seeming more alert than before.

Still, Timothy inched back toward the door.

“Please… help me…”

Another step…

“I’m so thirsty, it hurts…”

Another step…

“I might die…”

One more step…

“Won’t you help me…?”

Timothy spun on his heel, reaching out for the doorknob but catapulted back the moment his hand touched something cold. The girl, now standing, wavered before the door. Despite the clear weakness in her movements, she kept upright and stared down at him. He had tried to imagine what color her eyes were. Her hair was gray so he thought perhaps her eyes might be a similar shade, or perhaps brown or blue… Something bright, youthful, innocent. But as she looked down at him, her eyes were as dark as night itself. Black, impossibly black, so black he felt as if those eyes were pulling him towards her. He clawed his way backward, up the bed and against its headboard. Her face was tightly sewed up in pain, to even stand must have been agonizing for her. It showed in the tears pooling at her eyes. But, there was another look there as well… Intense  _ desperation. _

“Everything hurts…” she wept, stumbling for a moment. “I can feel every blood vessel in my body… scraping together and eroding… I don’t know… I don’t know why… I don’t understand anything… All I know about myself… is how thirsty I am.”

Quivering like a sheet in the wind, Timothy’s jaw lowered and though he feared he already knew the answer, he asked his question anyway.

“What… What do you want to drink? I’ll-I’ll bring it to you, just lay down… and I can leave and get it for you.” 

But the girl shook her head, tears flowing down her delicate face as she gripped the roots of her hair.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I… I don’t understand why… I’m sorry…”

With unsteady footsteps, she crept closer to him. Paralyzed with fear, he watched as she inched closer and climbed onto the bed, onto him. She was so close, he thought that she might be able to hear his heart thumping in his chest. And perhaps she could, her eyes lingered on that spot for a moment as if she were transfixed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking hold of his wrists with some foreign strength, “but thank you… You took care of me.”

Her lips parted and curled back, in her mouth he saw the thing that affirmed his nightmare. Glinting in the sunlight, coming to a sharp point, were fangs. From this vantage, it was impossible for him not to see what she was. Those fangs, her pale body, screamed at him. Screamed… for blood. And without a word, the girl bit into his neck and instantly, he became numb. The sound of her sucking became a dull ringing and he felt his warmth gradually seep away, into her. Her dark veins grew vibrant before his eyes, taking on a lustrous red hue before concealing themselves beneath her skin. The grip on his wrists became suffocating in mere seconds, inhuman to some extent. Her body, which had been light up until now, became heavier on top of him and if he could dare to think it, hot to the touch.

The room grew darker, tilting to the left as his eyes became weighted by some phantom drowsiness. And there was a slight tug at his skin as the girl pulled away from his neck and whispered in his ear.

“I’m sorry… But, thank you for the meal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be told from the girl's perspective and her name will finally be revealed... Also, that's what Timothy gets for being a simp for a girl that he found in a safe XD


	3. The Girl in the Safe Is... [Awakening]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long time between updates. In my real life, I went through a break up so I didn't really feel like writing. Hopefully, this chapter will suffice. Thank you for all the support so far, it's made me really happy. I'll try to update more frequently from now on since I'm feeling better.

_ When I woke up for the first time, _

_ My entire body was paralyzed by agony. _

_ There wasn’t a single thought in my mind… _

_ Not a single memory to tell me who I was or how I ended up like this. _

_ The only thing I knew for certain… _

_ Was that I was insatiably, inconsolably  _ **_thirsty_ ** _. _

* * *

When I finally stumble out of the cabin, the sun has already started its descent for the horizon. The forest before me is dripping in an orange glow and though I dizzily wobble outside, I can’t contain my exhilaration. What is it that I’m feeling? The opposite of pain… is there a word for it? Whatever it is, I feel like swaying and spinning around as dusk sets in and the moon rises. Yet, the voice in the back of my empty head tells me that I’ve done something terrible. I look down at myself for the first time and I see red. Just red, all over my skin and the gown that was once white. Red that seeps through the fabric and coats my skin in this sweet fragrance. I feel dizzy once more and twirl around, barefoot in the dirt, until I’m facing the cabin.

_ I… killed those men, didn’t I? _ When the thought echoes around in my head, my body shivers.  _ Was that really me… who did that? _ Those men were kind enough to help me, I can’t forget about that. Without them, I would have still been in that place. I would have still been in pain, cold and empty. I clasp my hand around the ring hanging from my neck and my breathing grows heavier.  _ Why, why did I do that? _

I step inside once more and the air is thick with the lingering smell of their blood. They drank quite a bit through the night so there’s a bitter scent mingling in as well, though it isn’t strong enough to keep my mouth from filling with saliva. My mind is quickly being invaded by fog, urging me to find more, to feel even better. But then, the voice in my head speaks again and the mist is dashed away coldly.  _ Who am I?  _ I hover in the doorway, the question repeats itself over and over again with no forthcoming answer.  _ Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? _ The question loops relentlessly, beating like a drum around my hollow skull and still, I have no idea what the answer is.  _ Who am I? Who am I?  _

“Useless…” 

I sigh, willing away the throbbing headache creeping up on me. There’s no point in asking the question… I don’t know the answer. I… don’t know anything. I step further inside of the cabin, bumbling about the sitting room without a clear direction. 

“Where do I go? Where am I from?” I ask the room, though its tenants can no longer answer.

I look around, at the pale faces of the men who mere hours ago were sleeping soundly in this room. One of them, on the floor, has his eyes fixed open with a look I can only describe as terror. The other one, by the door, tried to run away and I caught him before he could get past the threshold. And the wrinkly old man in the armchair… he didn’t even try to fight me. He moved for just a moment and then leaned back into the chair and let me drain everything away. Where… were they from? Where were they planning on going? Who… were they?

“I’m sorry…” I say, falling to my knees.

I didn’t mean to kill them… That was never the intention. But, as soon as my fangs pierced their skin and their blood flooded my mouth, there was no helping it. The flavor, even if not all of them tasted as great as the others, brought on such a nice feeling. My entire body was warm and jittery. My senses were elevated so much that I could hear a ladybug munching on a blade of grass outside. For the first time, at least that I can remember, I felt limitless. I could fly if I wanted to, that was the feeling. So… There was no way I could stop once I started. Even if I try to coddle myself, a lump rises in my throat and my entire body aches restless.

Before I know it, I’m on my feet picking up the man on the floor. Even though he’s quite larger than me, lifting him is no trouble. I place him down on the sofa, propping him up as if he were simply napping in that spot. And then, the man by the door, I place him on the sofa as well. This way, it might look as if the two men are carrying on a pleasant conversation. The old man continues to lounge in his chair and I just correct his posture a bit.  _ This should do… Everyone is comfortable, right? Not so pitiful… _ But… that smell of blood still hangs in the air. Soaked and dried into their clothes, into mine. Blood paints the floor and just looking at it makes me want to get down on my hands and knees and lick it all up.  _ Maybe, if I pluck out their eyes and bite down on them gently, more blood will spurt into my mouth. _

“No…”

I shiver, gripping my own shoulders. The voice that spoke in my mind… did it belong to me? Did I really think such an awful thought? I shake my head, but I can’t deny it. I squeeze my eyes shut but the image of blood is imprinted on the back of my eyelids. With each passing second, my throat becomes more and more dry. My tongue feels as if it’s swelling up painfully, pressing against the back of my teeth. My fangs itch and long for the feeling of warm skin, new skin, fresh blood.

“No!”

Again, my body moves on its own and lifts up a crystal bottle from a table. The bottle is halfway emptied, a brown liquid swirling around. When I take out the top, a foul odor stings my nose. Quickly, I dump the liquid on the floor, on the sofa, on the men until the bottle is empty and the smell of blood is dampened ever so slightly.  _ It’s not enough, it’s not enough, it’s not enough… _ I wonder if the thirst will go away. I take a small box of matches off of the fireplace mantle.  _ If I burn everything here, will the hunger be expelled?  _ Before I know it, a lit match is burning up between my thumb and forefinger. I drop it just as the heat inches closer to my skin and it lands in the puddle of alcohol before me. Blooming blue, flames ignite and quickly swallow the men on the couch. 

I walk outside before the cabin is devoured by fire. I’m bathed by moonlight and a cool breeze from the mountains ripples through my hair. And I watch as the cabin burns with an entrancing light. By a vague instinct, I know I shouldn’t want to touch the flames. Though, curiosity takes hold of me and I stretch out my hand. The fire licks my skin, hungrily eating away at my flesh in a matter of seconds and with a shriek, I stagger backward. My fingers have turned an ugly shade of purple, blistering up before my eyes. An intense heat burrows into my nerves, travelling up my cold arm and searing the stolen blood in my veins. And then, just as quickly, the pain dissolves. The blisters burst at once and my skin repairs itself. Beneath the moonlight, I stare at my hand dumbfounded. And then I place it in the fire once more.

I endure the pain for a bit longer and pull my hand away when it becomes numb. This time, my skin has been charred down to the bone. And yet, despite taking longer than last time, it still heals completely within minutes. Other than some sudden fatigue, there’s nothing perceivably wrong with me. No injuries, no sign of harm. No matter how many times I put my hand in and out of the fire, it heals without so much as a scar. The cabin creaks and roars in distress, collapsing onto itself. I stop burning myself then, bored of the feeling already.  _ Surely, if I stayed in the fire long enough, it might burn me to the point where I could not recover.  _ I turn away from the cabin as the fire starts to die out, wandering aimlessly into the forest.  _ Still, can I not die so easily? _

The thought lingers on my tongue as I walk an unclear path through the trees.  _ Can I not die? _ I don’t know how long I was in that box, that safe… I don’t even remember how I got inside of it or why I was there. Surely it was a long time, right? And still, I didn’t die. Even though my lungs were full of water and I felt like I was starving, even though it was excruciating… I didn’t die. Why? What the hell am I?

I step out of the woods suddenly, met with the sight of that safe on the lakeshore. It’s opened, appearing relatively undisturbed. A squirrel runs past, trampling over decayed papers. Without taking a step, I’m standing in front of the safe all at once. It’s almost as if I were able to move just by thinking of it. But, it’s useless to question it… I bend down in front the safe, an unpleasant chill wrapping itself around my body.  _ I don’t ever want to be inside this thing again,  _ I think and quickly scoop up what remains inside the safe: smudged documents, rotted books, and a wooden box with a small lock. I plant myself on the lakeshore, sifting through the items one at a time. The documents and books are illegible, ruined by the water. I can’t even make out a single word in the splotches of diluted ink. In the end, all that’s left is the wooden box.

I turn it over in my hands, shaking it gently and hearing something shuffle inside… like cards. The wood is pretty warped and if I press into it with my fingernail softly, it dents. With ease, I rip off the lid and the lock breaks apart in my hands. To my surprise, the contents within seem completely intact. I might even say the water never touched it. I reach into the little box and remove its contents, a stack of photographs. Each one is somewhat brown in color, as if filtered by that alcohol from the cabin. But, they’re wrapped up in paper frames and some have writing on them. The first one is a photograph of a man and a woman sitting down side by side with serious expressions. The woman looks different from the man, with narrower eyes and a lower nose bridge. Her hair is incredibly dark, as far as I can tell, and her skin is pale. The caption beneath the photo reads, “1879.”

I set the photo aside carefully, continuing to look through the other images. All the images appear to be from the 1800s, mostly of that man and the woman. In 1883, they appear in a photo together where the woman is cradling an infant in her arms. There’s not another photo until 1889 and this one is of a child. For some reason, as I look at the child in the photo, a sharp pang stirs in my chest. It’s like… I’m on the cusp of remembering something, but no memory takes form. I place the photo down and move onto the next few. They’re all of the child, over the course of six years. By 1895, there’s finally a photograph with something other than a year written on it.  _ Our precious Julia, 1895.  _ And the moment I wrap my tongue around that name, something in my head clicks. The child in these photographs, without a doubt, is me.

With renewed eyes, I look over the photos once more. I imprint the faces of the man and woman who must be my parents on my mind, I thoroughly examine every feature of my young face and somehow, I’m assured that this child I see in these images was human. That my parents, too, were humans. And finally, I reach the last photograph. It’s of me, the human me, in the year 1897. I was fourteen, looking a little closer to what I imagine I look like now. Though, the photograph itself has no paper frame and is torn cleanly in half. Or at least, I would assume so. The human me in the photo has a foreign arm wrapped around her and given the sleeve, it looks as if it belongs to a man. I look closer, closer, and on the man’s finger… is a ring. I look down at myself now, at the ring around my neck, and compare it to the one in the photograph.

It’s a bit difficult to tell, but the shape is the same. The ring around my neck and the one on that man’s finger are one in the same. Hastily, I turn the photo over and around in my hands, and find part of a handwritten note on the back.

> _ Dear Lia,  _
> 
> _ Forgive me for running away last- _
> 
> _ I’m sure I must have frightened- _
> 
> _ I’ll explain everything so plea- _
> 
> _ … at our place tomorrow night. _
> 
> _ I love you, believe that at lea- _
> 
> _ I won’t ever hurt you. I swea- _

I read the fragmented letter again and again. I suppose I hoped that if I kept reading it, I might be able to remember the rest. Maybe I’d even remember the name of the person who sent it. But… there’s nothing. I can’t recall a single thing about this letter or the person who gave me this ring. I still… don’t know much. And yet, I smile. I smile just slightly and bring the torn photo close to my chest. I don’t know much of anything, but I’m closer to understanding, I think. Where I came from and what happened to me is something that I can find out. If I can find the person who gave me this ring, I might find out everything else. But at least now, I know one thing with absolute certainty.

“My name is Lia.”

**[End, Awakening]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, her name is Lia... Wonder who gave her that ring...


	4. The Beginning of a Tragic Story [Red Shoes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year has passed since Lia has been released from the safe she was imprisoned in for over a century. On her way to London, she encounters an older man who takes a bit too much interest in her. Savoring this new entertainment, she decides to tell him about what she'd been up to over the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter begins! So the structure for this story, as you might be able to tell, is separated into arcs. Each arc is 3 chapters long, telling about a different point in Lia's life as she searches for the vampire who turned her. This arc is probably my favorite out of the ones I've planned so I hope you enjoy it. I'm experimenting a bit with the narration so I look forward to hearing your thoughts. I'll try to update again soon!

_ Humans, to the core, are all the same. _

_ Bitterly selfish creatures at heart. _

_ So, then… Who’s worse? _

_ Me… or them? _

* * *

“It’s snowing…”

As I whisper to myself, my breath forms a cloud from my mouth and withers away. I suppose it’s winter now. On my fingers, I count the months that have passed though I’m not entirely sure how many have.  _ One… three… ten? _ I think perhaps it’s been a year since I woke up for the first time. My hair has grown a few inches longer during that time and though my body hasn’t changed much in terms of weight, I feel more plump than I did wandering in the woods those first few lonely nights. More… full. Even so, there’s this lingering pang in the pit of my stomach that hasn’t gone away since then. As always, I’m hungry.

Even if my body hungers, I think I’ve learned some restraint now. Of course, avoiding people has aided me in sparing the masses of people I’d come across during the day. Hardly anyone travels in the dead of night and those who have had the misfortune of crossing paths with me were people I doubt anyone cared much for to begin with.  _ That’s right,  _ I tell myself.  _ They served a better purpose feeding me than living amongst the filth in this worth. _ The year that passed taught me that absolute truth. And now, having gone from somewhere in Romania up to England, I feel no qualms about the bodies I’ve left behind me. My feet swing to and fro as I sit on an outside bench, waiting for my early morning train to London to pull into the station.

I can’t remember if I’ve ever rode a train before. I’m sure before I was locked into my family’s safe, I rode one. Though, I can only assume that’s the case, not knowing for sure. I finally managed to scrape together enough money to purchase a ticket so I suppose I should be excited that my efforts, however reprehensible the method, paid off. Yet, my hands tremble terribly nonetheless. How silly of me. I shouldn’t be afraid of anything anymore. I’m the thing everyone should fear.

Somehow, men manage to be the evergreen exception.

I can sense him the moment he’s stepped outside. He holds a cup of coffee in each hand, one black and one with far too much sugar stirred in. As the snow accumulates, he looks up and down the aisle as if to disguise his intentions. But he walks with sure feet, careful not to slip on any ice that may be in his path, and approaches me. In a suit and thick overcoat, he takes a seat on the vacant space of my bench and shudders. He eyes me for a moment and then wicks away his focus to some passing distraction before settling his gaze on me again. Then, clearing his throat, he extends the sugary cup of coffee out to me, inching closer.

“Cold, isn’t it?” he starts with an uppity accent.

He’s very polished, despite the deep set wrinkles on his forehead. Flecks of gray are peppered into his muted brown hair, neatly combed back. I sigh and my cloud blooms once again before it disappears. Then, with a faint smile, I take the cup of coffee without a word. He shifts around beside me, shifting his weight between his thighs and shaking the bench to a nauseating degree. Balancing his cup in his hand, he wrestles out of his overcoat and I take a moment to sip the coffee he’s given me _ … Bitter. _

“Ah…” I exhale as he finally removes the coat.

Before I can speak, he’s draped the coat over my shoulders and cinched it around my body to ensure I’m encapsulated in its warmth.

“You must be freezing out here, little lady. Don’t want you getting sick, now,” he says in a tender voice.

I sink back, partially comforted by the warm cotton guarding my skin from the falling snow. Though, I feel a lump in the back of my throat.

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” I tell him, though I doubt he takes my words to heart because  _ he knows best. _

He leans back, resting against the wall of the station, pleased with his advances thus far. It’s almost laughable. This man likely has a wife judging from the thick gold band on his third finger, perhaps children. Yet, he sees me and approaches me because I’m young to him. Exciting, maybe even challenging. Something fresh to break up his monotonous life. However, I’m over 100 years old and if I wanted to, I could rip open his throat before he could even blink. I could drink his aged blood, dampened by coffee and alcohol, until there wasn’t a drop left. Yet, he hasn’t the faintest clue of this outcome he’s invited by sitting next to me. And proceeds to attempt his seduction without the slightest inhibition.

“Heading to London, are you?” he asks and I nod.

“That coat is nice and warm, isn’t it?” he asks and I nod.

“Is that your natural hair color?” he asks and I nod.

“Your shoes… I like them.”

I begin to nod again before really hearing what he’s said and my grip on the paper cup in my hand tightens ever so slightly. I look down at my shoes, wondering why they caught his attention. I suppose red shoes are quite the contrast compared to the rest of my wardrobe. My clothing, what little I have, is quite monochromatic. Yet, I only have one pair of shoes. The first shoes I remember having, that were bought for me… just this summer. When it was still warm outside…

“They were a gift,” I tell the man.

“A gift, you say? From a boy?” he asks and I shake my head. “Your mother, then?”

I sigh a third time and look up to the gray sky. A snowflake lands on the tip of my nose and for the first time, I feel a chill seep into my skin. 

“Someone… like that,” I answer. “It’s quite the story actually.”

The man stretches his arm out behind me, though it doesn't make contact with my body. 

“Well, we’ve got nothing but time if you’d like to tell it. I’m an excellent listener,” he says.

I chuckle and look at him fully, the corner of my mouth rising upward.

“It has a… fairly tragic ending. Are you sure you’d like to hear it?” I ask him.

He nods eagerly and his fingertips dance over my shoulder. I lean closer to him and whisper, “Then, listen very carefully.”

_ There was a brief time, in the spring, that I had nothing. No family, no home, no memories. The little clues I was able to find didn’t tell me much more than my name. I had hopes of discovering more about myself and answering all the questions volleying around in my mind. But hope and ability do not always coincide. So, I wandered in a forest I’d never seen before all alone for days and days until those days became weeks. My stomach growled viciously and my mouth had lost all moisture. It was painfully familiar, that kind of malnourishment. And, desperate, I ate whatever I could get my hands on. Squirrels, rabbits, even a fox and its pups. For a while, it was almost enough. Though, I craved something more sustainable. _

_ That’s when, at the edge of the forest, I smelled something more promising. Like a wolf, I followed the scent hastily and came to a small cottage. I was fearful at first, a bit apprehensive. So I stood amongst the trees and watched the cottage carefully. No one entered and no one left, there was no noise coming from it though its little chimney puffed out white smoke. And, bolstering my courage, I decided to enter. The cottage was equally quaint on the inside, with its kitchen and parlor confined to a single room. As I walked through, the floorboards squealed horribly and I worried the whole structure might collapse on me if I were to walk with a heavier gait. Yet, that smell permeated everything. The wicker armchairs, the woven quilts, everything. Though, strangely enough, once I entered the cottage I couldn’t discern where the scent was coming from exactly. My stomach grumbled and impatiently, I searched the kitchen for some trace of food. _

_ In the end, all I found was a pot of stew, near bubbling over on a wood-burning stove. And then an old woman clubbed me over the head with a wooden rolling pin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Men are just as I thought... trash.


	5. Eugenia [Red Shoes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lia continues her story and reminiscences about the bond she formed with an older woman who had been praying for a daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, a bit of a longer chapter here but I wanted to hurry up and get an update out for you all. Please do let me know if the formatting is a little confusing and I'll make the necessary edits so it's easier to read. The next chapter is gonna be a little gruesome so I'll give you warning now. However, I hope you enjoy this one!

_ The man continued listening to my story, creeping further and further away from the edge of his seat. _

_ Yet, his eyes didn’t leave the red shoes on my feet. _

_ I continued the story regardless. _

_ Perhaps deep down I wanted to tell it. _

* * *

_ When I came to, I was laid on a blanket by the fireplace. A little old woman waddled over to me, her back arched like a shepherd’s cane. In her shaking hands was a little wooden bowl steaming with somewhat fresh stew. Even though the weight of the bowl nearly brought her to the floor beside me, she held it as firm as she could and held it out to me. _

_ “Eat up, child,” she said to me and placed the bowl in my hands. _

I stop for a moment and sip the coffee the man gave me again. Despite the sugary smell, the flavor is still bitter. I glance at him as his gaze vacillates between my feet and my hair and for a moment, I want to reveal what my true thoughts were at the time when that woman offered me food. That, because I only crave blood, her stew wouldn’t benefit me in any way. That, because I was so hungry, my immediate thought was to sink my fangs into the cord-like veins on her frail hands.  _ Do old women scream or do they shrivel up like old men? _ I wondered that. Yet, I stop myself. I think I’ll enjoy telling this story more if I save the twist for the ending. I take a breath and begin again.

_ I took the bowl from her and with the little wooden spoon she gave me, ate my first bite of real food. Because I had lost my memory weeks earlier, it was my first time experiencing a true meal. And, like you might expect, I enjoyed it immensely. The stew was still hot so I could feel its warmth as it slid down my throat and into my stomach. Even the flavor was surprisingly good. And, even though it only subsided my hunger for a short while, it gave me comfort that seemed almost familiar. Like that, basking in the heat from the fireplace, I shared another bowl of stew with the old lady. While we ate, I asked and she told me her name. _

_ “Eugenia. And who might you be?” she asked back. _

_ “My name is Lia… Uh, Julia, actually. But, I think people used to call me Lia,” I told her. _

_ “You ‘think’?”  _

_ “I don’t remember… Apart from my name, I don’t remember anything.” _

_ That was all it took. That single sentence was all it took for Eugenia’s small eyes to wetten and for her to take me in her arms. She held me close to her chest, so close that I could hear her heart beating. But, more so, that I could feel the warmth of her body. And very softly, she wept. _

_ “God answered my prayers. He finally sent to me the daughter I’ve wanted all these years.” _

“So, she became something of a foster mother to you?” the man chirps, surprisingly following along well.

I nod and join him in staring at my shoes. 

“I… don’t really know my real mother or what she was like. Even though it was a bit weird and we were strangers, I suppose I just wanted to feel like I had a mother for a little while.”

All at once it seemed that I forgot about the ring around my neck entirely. For a moment, I even forgot what I was trying to accomplish. As Eugenia held me, something inside of me stirred and went to her. I accepted her embrace and returned it. And, somehow, I felt warmth coming from within me. I felt human. Tears fell from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, onto her shoulder and I reveled in the feeling that I might not be some horrible monster. The more she thanked her God, the more assured I was that I was not bad at all. And yet, some sadness lingered in my unbeating heart because that sweet fragrance that brought me to Eugenia’s little cottage was all over her... and it never left.

_ I lost track of time living with her through the summer. She sewed me new clothes, cut my hair for me. She taught me to cook, and I kept the little house clean whenever she had to go into town. I would spend hours just staring at her flower garden, waiting for her to return so we could talk about this and that. So she could read to me and teach me all the things I didn’t know about or understand. She told me lots about herself, too. She married when she was around my age and her husband died in some great war. Because she loved him, she never married again but she always, always wanted a daughter. A pretty daughter that she could make pretty dresses for and spend her final years with. And because she had given me so much, I did my best to grant her wish. _

_ But… a part of me wondered how long the bliss that I was living in would last. Inexplicably, the sweet scent that covered everything in the house turned sour and rotten. As the summer grew hotter, it became more and more difficult for me to withstand the smell. You might say my nose is a bit sensitive. I spent days trying to find the source of the odor but, in the end, had no luck. Perhaps because of that, Eugenia decided to take me into town with her one day. You see, I had been wearing her house slippers so she had the idea to buy me my very own pair of shoes. So, for the first time in my life- that I could remember- I went into town with her. We got a few odd stares and I thought it might’ve had something to do with my appearance. Eugenia was an old woman with a kind, round face. When she smiled, her eyes formed little crescents. Though she insisted I was pretty, the only word I could really attribute to myself was “gloomy”. _

_ She told me because my hair was gray that I might remind someone of a storm cloud. Or because my eyes were dark, I might be a bit intimidating to look at directly. Neither of those rationalizations made me feel better, honestly. Even as we entered the shoe shoppe, the workers eyed us carefully. Eugenia and I walked along the aisles, stopping now and then whenever I found something that suited my taste and finally stopped at a pair of round-toed red heels. And yet, the workers never stopped staring. Then I realized… They weren’t watching me. They were watching Eugenia. It dawned on me that the sweet old woman taking care of me, nurturing me like a mother might, didn’t have much money. After all, she did live alone in a little cottage. Surely, a frail woman like her couldn’t be working much. And yet, she wanted to buy me shoes. _

_ “Eugenia, let’s go home,” I whispered to her. _

_ I tugged on her sleeve and she brushed me off. _

_ “Oh, do you not like these shoes?” she asked. _

_ I shook my head and glanced at the price of the red heels. Even without really knowing for sure, I knew it was something too expensive for her. So, I took her hand and started pulling her down the aisle. _

_ “Lia, what are you doing?” _

I didn’t know why in the moment, but I felt so guilty. So undeserving. She didn’t know anything about me, but she was willing to spend her money on me. She believed that God had sent me to her, but in that shoppe, I started to fear that someone more sinister was at play. And though I want to proceed with the story, the words won’t come out. 

“Are you okay?” the man asks me in a sincerely tender voice.

I open my mouth but there’s nothing but a strained breath. 

“It’s okay, take your time,” the man says.

And then, he places his hand on my thigh. His rough hand strokes my skin, his fingers wedging themselves between my legs. And just like that, my revulsion allows me to continue. I ignore his hand moving ever-so-slightly upward and sigh.

_ I guess I didn’t know my own strength very well. When Eugenia tried to pull her hand away, I yanked harder on her and within the blink of an eye, she was sent to the floor with a powerful whoosh. She fell face-first and I heard a slight crack that rattled me to the core. For a moment, she didn’t move. She didn’t cry or scream or whimper. She only twitched once or twice and fell silent. Some of the workers ran over to us, pulling me away from her and I watched in a daze as they helped her up. Finally, I heard her groan in pain and the pressure constricting my chest released slightly. Then, I saw her face. Her nose had started bruising immediately, dripping with bright, red blood. And so… I ran like hell. _

Deep down, I was mortified. I ran back to the cottage though I doubted I would be able to stay there. I hurt her… and worse yet, I liked hurting her. I only saw it for a second, her wounded face, but it was enough to burn onto my eyelids. Weak, helpless, sweet blood dripping down into a little puddle on the shoppe floor. The part of me that was human was nowhere to be found… The warmth that I had felt within me had been snuffed out by a damnable hunger. And I knew, no matter what I did or how hard I tried, I would always want to hurt her again. The longer we stayed together and the more I tried to fool myself caring about her, I would lust for her blood more and more. And still, at that time, the fear that these things were true kept me from leaving.

_ I must have cried myself to sleep the moment I set foot back into the cottage. The next thing I knew, I was waking up beside the fireplace once again. Only this time, Eugenia was stirring a pot on the stove and next to me, rather than a bowl of stew, was a box in shiny gray wrapping paper.  _

_ “You must have been feeling terrible. When I came home, you were sniffling in your sleep, Lia,” she spoke. _

_ I was frozen in place on the floor, watching as she prepared soup. Absolutely bewildered, my eyes turned to the box beside me. _

_ “Go ahead, open up your gift, dear,” she told me. _

_ Following her instruction, I took the box into my lap and carefully peeled away the paper. And inside the box was the red shoes from the store. I shook my head wildly, looking up and expecting to still see her in the kitchen but by that point, she had come to my side with a bowl of a tomato soup. I took the bowl, a little timid, and held it as she slowly took a seat. _

_ “Don’t coddle me, Lia,” she began. “When I took you in, I took responsibility for your care and all that it entails. God wouldn’t have brought you to me if he didn’t think I could handle it. All my life, I wanted this beautiful image of a family. To be a wife and a mother. I prayed for it every morning and every night. So… Don’t think I regret having you here.” _

_ She didn’t understand… _

_ “You’re a kind girl, even though you’re having some difficulties. Even if you don’t remember anything about your past, I know you’re a sweet child.” _

_ She didn’t understand. _

_ “So listen to me and listen to me good, Julia. You are an angel, a blessing to me and to this earth.” _

_ She didn’t understand. _

_ “And I love you… with all my heart. And, even though it’s only been for a little while, I’m proud to call myself your mother.” _

_ She just didn’t understand. _

_ “Now please, eat up before your soup gets cold.” _

_ “Yes… Mother.” _

Something I know now that I didn’t know then is that humans and monsters aren’t terribly unalike. Whichever one I was more of didn’t matter. In the end, both beings are capable of the same things. Without knowing, I ignored that rotten smell of Eugenia and her house and I brought the bowl to my lips. I drank the soup and swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Then, I stopped for a moment and let the flavor rest on my tongue. I didn’t know why then, but I know now. I take another sip of the man’s coffee and sigh because the bitterness of his offering… is the same bitterness I tasted that night in Eugenia’s soup.

“In the end, you humans really are disappointing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN!!!!


	6. The End of a Tragic Story [Red Shoes]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lia concludes her story, which takes a gruesome turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write. Hope you enjoy and thank you for all the support.

_ In the midst of a sweltering summer, _

_ A bitter flavor clouded all my senses. _

_ And that rotten smell, _

_ Nourished my festering rage. _

* * *

Am I the monster? I wondered that many times over. I tried and tried to cling to that warmth, that faintest affirmation that something human lingered inside of me. I really did try. And yet, that summer, it dawned on me that perhaps there was nothing good about being human to begin with. The man’s hand finally draws away from my leg and he watches as the cup of coffee drops out of my hand and the collecting snow melts from its heat. 

“Is everything okay?” the man asks, wavering between leaning closer and moving away.

“I’m perfectly fine. Not at all dizzy or drowsy or whatever effect the drug in you put in my coffee was supposed to have on me.”

I stand up, shrugging off the overcoat around my shoulders. As I look down at the man, he scoffs with an indignation he has no right to. The gears in his head are turning, as I believe the expression goes. He shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and folds his arms like a petulant child. 

“I beg your pardon,” he says, likely because he can’t come up with anything else.

It’s tempting, truly, to kill him right here. I could leave a bloody mess in the white snow. Just the thought of it makes my mouth water tremendously. But, that’s now how his story will end. The ring on his finger catches the moonlight as he wrings his hands, trying to think of a way out of this situation. His dull eyes are quivering, darting around more erratically the longer I stare at him in silence. He shivers and tenses under my gaze and I just know he must be thinking of how to kill me. He clenches his hands together, imagining how much force he would need to strangle me quickly without even giving me a chance to scream. He glances down at the watch around his wrist, checking how much time he has. The train’s due to come within the next ten minutes. If he’s quick, and careful, he could dispose of me without anyone knowing a thing. And in just a second, he shifts his weight to his feet and jolts up.

“You’re being rude.”

When my hand splits his gut open, I imagine he’s incredibly surprised. I grip his entrails with my fingernails, watching as his eyes grow round and glossy. Under the light of the moon, his horrified face is almost enjoyable. A bit of blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth and his jaw tightens shut.  _ Men rarely scream… How disappointing. _

“I haven’t even finished my story yet and you’re already getting up to leave. You should have a seat.”

A pleasing squelch accompanies me throwing him back onto the bench, likely the sound of my hand exiting his insides. He convulses for a moment and stares up at me without hazarding to blink even once. Just like she did… 

“Now… Where did I leave off?” 

_ The temperature continued to rise and even for me, there were days where it became almost unbearable. Eugenia and I would sit by the lake now and then, hoping it would cool us off. But, there were days where we’d stay in the cottage and fan ourselves with linen cloths. It was almost doable, barring the smell. The hotter it got, the worse the smell became. I would be lying if I said I didn’t recognize it. Sometimes, in the woods, I would come across an animal who died. A deer, a squirrel, sometimes a bird. And as they rotted away, they all had that same smell. The smell flooding Eugenia’s cottage… was the smell of death. _

_ But, I feigned ignorance for a short while. I chose to believe that Eugenia could become like a mother to me and I worked hard to be like a daughter to her because I wanted that feeling… The feeling that I belonged somewhere, that I was loved and cherished. Human or not, that’s what I wanted. So I pretended not to know. I sat down with her and ate the food she made and smiled, even though the flavor grew intensely bitter over the passing days. I pretended not to notice how intently she watched me eat, barely touching her own serving. I pretended for as long as I could and convinced myself that I was wrong. That I was the monster in that house. And all along, it wasn’t me. _

_ Slowly, things began to make more sense. The strange looks we got when we went into town. The way Eugenia immediately took me in. And the smell that brought me to her cottage in the first place. I hadn’t smelled the stew cooking on the stove, no. What I smelled, and what later devolved into something foul and hideous, was blood.  _

_ I tried to ignore it, but everything done in the dark must be brought to the light eventually. One morning, our last morning together, I woke up a bit earlier than usual. I left the bedroom I shared with her and walked across the floor of the cottage, my footsteps resounding in the hollowness beneath. And I saw her toiling away in the kitchen, dumping three bottles of rat poison into a pot of porridge. The moment I saw it, it became impossible to delude myself. I was never a daughter to her, she did not love me. I was just a fixation of some sickness within her, like the countless girls decomposing under her floorboards… All wearing pretty red shoes. _

“Do you see now… why I’m so agitated with you?” I ask the man as he tries to compose himself, clutching his stomach and staining his gold ring a brilliant crimson.

“I… I don’t understand… W-Why didn’t… Why didn’t the poison work on you?” he manages to ask in return, coughing up a darker, more intense blood.

“You ask stupid questions, you know. It’s a bit irritating.”

It should seem obvious. I’m always cold, I have no heartbeat. No matter how much poison she put into my food, the only negative effect it had was a terrible aftertaste. She should have known. She should have quit. She should have just pretended and kept pretending. She should have just acted like a mother… She should have just loved me. And then I wouldn’t have had to find out what I really am.

“W… What… are you…?”

I was human once, that I’m sure of. At least, that’s what I hope. But somehow, because of someone else, I became this. Someone who can’t die, but isn’t quite alive. Someone who craves not food, but blood. Surely… it shouldn’t be that difficult to figure out.

“I’m a vampire.”

It’s funny how adrenaline works. Even with his intestines spilling out, he runs away from me. He staggers through the snow, thinking if he can just get far enough away, he’ll be safe. She did something similar. When I tore her neck open, she sped out of the cottage. But she was too frail to go far. And he’s lost too much blood to run faster. I catch him, just like I caught her, and kick the side of his right knee. His bones don’t snap as easily, but do end up broken all the same. It only takes a simple push to send him falling onto the train tracks. For her, all I had to do was drag her back into the cottage. Both of them begged, out of confusion, then cursed me, out of fear. They plead and demand their lives be spared but don’t give me the same regard.

She tried to kill me. He wanted to rape me. All for their own gratification, they did such terrible things. Of course, they’re humans and I’m not. To say one of us is a monster and absolve the other is wrong in and of itself. But only one of us is pretending to be the angel. So then, how can I really feel bad? When I drive my fangs into his neck, I don’t feel bad. I bite and tear at his skin to make him scream. And I make sure I bite deep enough so that whatever blood is sloshing around in his clogged veins will come pouring out here on the tracks. It would be so much more satisfying… if he tasted good. I pull away and let him slump over as he struggles to breathe. Such pure agony is written on his face. If only he tasted good…

Eugenia didn’t taste very good either, be it age or just the flavor of her soul if such a thing exists. I left her to bleed out as I pried up the floorboards to find all of her former “daughters”. Most probably died from poisoning, but some had their necks slit open. Perhaps they didn’t die fast enough for her liking. Perhaps… that was the fate that awaited me if I tested her patience any further. It was frightening, thinking of how close I came to being left there to rot with them. And then I remembered, they were human. Being human is what got them there, buried and forgotten. Being human is what made them trust Eugenia in the first place. And if that was what being human meant, then I figured I should be grateful I wasn’t.

_ “You’re a vampire…” _

_ That was the first time I had heard the word, that I could remember at least. But upon hearing Eugenia say it as she held her neck closed, it felt right. It felt… familiar. And for just a moment, I felt like I had remembered something. A phantom bite on my forefinger, with blazing heat that ignited all of my senses. A touch that felt even colder than mine wrapped around my waist. A cool kiss planted softly on my lips. All of this, these vibrant sensations, radiating from the ring around my neck. And for just a moment, I felt like I understood something. _

_ “That ring… The one around your neck… I’ve seen the crest on it before…” _

_ I thought maybe she was lying. Trying to save herself. But she pointed with her shaking hand across the room, to a jewelry box.  _

_ “Maria… Find Maria…” _

_ That was the last thing she said. Her hand fell to the floor and her eyes stretched open, glazing over almost instantly. She stopped moving all at once and the pool of blood forming beneath her rolled out to a halt. An unceremonious ending to a tragic summer. _

As the man falls silent, life leaving him just as quickly as it left her, I begin to wonder why she bothered telling me about the jewelry box. She was beyond saving, surely she knew that. I hop off the tracks and return to the bench as the train whistles from down the way. I still… don’t understand why she did that. Maybe it was a change of heart. Her way of atoning before she died, helping me learn about the things I couldn’t remember? Whatever prompted it, I heeded her words. I broke open the jewelry box and inside, I found a story similar to mine. Photos of a family, Eugenia’s family. Her husband has died, but she did have a daughter. A daughter who used to be human like me. But, for one reason or another, became a vampire. A daughter… named Maria.

As the train rolls into the station, I pull her picture from my pocket. In the photo, a red-haired woman stands smiling in front of a hospital with a sign bearing the same signet as the one on my ring. And on the back of the photo, printed neatly in red ink:

“Dr. Reinhart and I have finally opened the hospital here in London. It’ll be a lot of work, but I’m sure I can handle it now. Be sure to send along some viable patients. See you soon, Mother. Yours Truly, Maria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another arc ends, time to see what fun Lia will have with Maria.


End file.
